


Biscuit

by MadAndy



Category: Iron Maiden
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6248806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadAndy/pseuds/MadAndy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Games you can play with five bored musicians cooped up in a tourbus for months on end - scrabble it ain't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biscuit

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Although this tale features characters that share an awful lot of characteristics with the individuals who go to make up the featured rock band, it isn't them. I'm fully aware of that fact; they're completely their own people, and this is a fantasy based on their stage personas, interviews and other material in the public domain. No malice or impeachment is intended to the band, their families, friends, management companies or anyone else involved with them in any way, shape or form. No money is being made from this tale, it's written purely for the enjoyment of the author...and her readers. 
> 
> It's fiction. Enjoy it as such.
> 
> \-------------
> 
> This is all Hank's fault.
> 
> He suggested - when I bitched about Muses vanishing like water in the desert - that someone write a solo (nudgenudgewinkwink) fic. I protested that I had already done so; someone then mentioned the words 'circle' and 'jerk' in the same sentence, and a long forgotten memory began to surface... 
> 
> I went to a pretty posh school, and knew lads who'd played this game. For real.
> 
> Oh yes, and a little explanation. The term 'jaffa'. There was a series of ads in the seventies - on UK TV - for clementines(little oranges), with the tag line 'small ones are more juicy'. The implication being that big oranges - sold predominantly by the company called jaffa - weren't. This was taken by schoolchildren (mostly boys, unsurprisingly) that if you had a big dick it didn't work as well as a small one. 
> 
> Which developed, of course, into a 'jaffa' being someone who either fired blanks or couldn't get it up. I'd almost forgotten the word, but NickoMuse reminded me. *sigh*
> 
> Thanks Nicko...
> 
> Now read on.
> 
> (Originally published in 2005)

_****_

_Biscuit_

Late tour boredom. Too many days, too many hotels, too many miles.

The five men travelling in the scruffy bus - six if you included the tour manager snoring happily in his bunk at the back - had almost had enough of this lark by now. Playing live _no_ , but all the everyday mechanics of touring? _Yes_.

Even talking had become dull; they were beginning to think that each one of them had heard everything the others had to say, knew about everything they’d ever done and everything that they might conceivably have thought about it. Talking about sex wasn’t a patch on doing it, and even that gets old after the fiftieth painted and polished groupie. Discussing football had lost its apparently endless ability to fascinate for hours on end, something that none of them would have believed had you told them this before the tour began. Never, they would have said, ever. 

So on the whole to pass the time, then, they slept, or read. Very occasionally, however, someone would come up with a whole new topic of discussion to worry at until that too lost its flavour.

It was usually Nicko.

“Bruce. You went to a posh school, didn’t yer?”

Bruce looked up from some groupie’s abandoned copy of ‘Cosmo’ and cast a lazy glance at the grinning drummer. “Why do you ask?”

Nicko rolled his eyes. “Did you or not? ‘Cos you went to fucking univer-si-tee, that I _do_ know.”

Placing the magazine aside with a sigh, Bruce concentrated his gaze on his friend. God only knew what the bugger was up to this time, but it was probably worth paying attention to.

“Yeah. I did.”

“Right. All rugger and cold showers and taking it up the arse, yeah? Like Eton but not quite so much. Less of the incomprehensible accents and whatnot, even though you do talk qwate nayce when you ‘as to.”

“Nicko. It wasn’t like that.” Bruce couldn’t help smiling; Nicko was obviously going somewhere with this, well above and beyond needling him about his expensive education.

“Yaaah. Must have been. All those teenage boys and not a girl in sight? Had to warp that there little mind of yours.”

“I went to an all boys school,” Steve chimed in, “didn’t do me any harm.”

“Ses the man who blushes like a lickle maid every time a woman flashes her tits at him. Anyway, who asked you mister-Harry-Bomber-interrupter-Harris?”

Nicko’s voice carried as he warmed up to his subject, whatever it would turn out to be. Dave and H - who had been quietly playing cards further back in the bus - wandered forward to see what the fuss was about. If nothing else, there might be a good row in the offing; this would mean stopping for a fag and a cup of coffee at the next service station while Rod lost his temper with whoever was shouting the loudest. This would, as always, be Bruce and Steve. And all the while Nicko would be sitting back with an innocent smile on his broad, ugly face, eyes glittering with wicked mischief as he watched the scene unfold.

It passed the time.

“Get to the point, Nicko.”

“The point is, Brucie me old mate, me old china, that if you did go to an exclusive expensive school -”

“It wasn’t that exclusive.”

“- don’t interrupt me when I’m holding forth. You’ll derail the train of thought and it’ll be a bloody mess, ideas staggerin’ around the place bleedin’ and flappin’ and moanin’ and screamin’ while I tries to remember where I was. Where was I?”

“Babbling,” grinned H.

“That’s not babbling, Smiffy. You want babbling, I can do babbling. Why I can be the babblingest -”

“The point, Nicko. You had one?” Davey leaned on the back of the seat and smiled.

“Yes I did. I most certainly did, and it’s a good one too. The positively pointiest point you ever did see AND--” Nicko raised his voice to cover the groans of his bandmates, “--it’s this. Since it’s all good clever male bonding and what-have-you in these places--”

“It wasn’t at my school,” said Steve, thoughtful expression denoting a delve into memory.

Nicko turned on him. “You’re interrupting again, Harris. I won’t have it. I’ll be asking you about your early homosexual male bonding shagging-in-the-showers experiences later and don’t tell me you didn’t because I’ve seen the pictures Halfin took, oh yes I have and it wasn’t the first time, was it? You naked in the shower wiv a little grin on that there face, not actually throwing the photographer out? Yeah, we know what happened next, you dirty bass man, you. All that touring going to your young little head, seen it before I ‘ave.”

He swung back to Bruce, well into his stride now, leaving Steve to shake his head in disbelief.

“Bruce. Yes. Exclusive private school _yes I know it wasn’t that exclusive you’ve said_ and I heard you the first time. Not sure I believe you but that’s beside the point. So my point actually is what sort of things _did_ you all get up to when you began to discover what the dangly bits between your legs was for? Apart from writin’ your name in the snow which, as we all know, is somethin’ all little boys do at some point or other.”

“You did it last week,” Adrian pointed out, looking as grave as possible whilst trying not to explode with laughter. Nicko flapped a hand at him.

“That’s your point?” grinned Bruce.

“Yeah. You know, off in the dorms at night, ‘what ho Jerry old chap, what’s this sticking up here then?’ ‘Oh I dunno Brucie, here let me pull it for you old boy’. That sort of thing, right?”

Bruce laughed. “No Nick, nothing like that. You’ve got a dirty mind, you know that?”

“Of course I ‘ave. I’d be workin’ in a bleedin’ office if I didn’t, wouldn’t I? Two point four kids and a fuckin’ mortgage. Instead I’m on the road with you fine chaps, ha, salt of the earth and all that, headin’ for the next gig and the next beer and the next shag, yeah? So. You must have done _somethin’_. All those hormones and nowhere to stick ‘em, so to speak.”

“What did you do?”

“I asked you first.”

Bruce snorted and shook his head. If he said ‘nothing’ and picked his magazine back up, Nicko would nag and nag until Harry lost his temper and started shouting at him and Nicko, and he’d start shouting back because it wasn’t _his_ fault that their drummer was a nosey bastard. And if that happened Davey and H who were, as ever, hanging over the back of their seats enjoying the show, would do their best to keep the row going. It would get louder and more heated until Rod woke up, and as the dreaded Sheriff loathed being awoken by raised voices that would be he and Harry dragged off by the ear. For a bollocking. Again.

He fixed Nicko with an evil stare, flipped his hair over his shoulder and bared his teeth. “Alright. You ever heard of ‘biscuit’?”

“I’ve heard _of_ biscuits. What sort? Rich tea? Digestive? Malted milk? Custard creme? Garibaldi? Bourbon?”

“Doesn’t matter. What, _none_ of you have heard of biscuit? Or played it? Fucking bunch of socially deprived bastards.”

Bruce adopted a smug expression as he nodded at them all sharply. Adrian turned to Dave with a raised eyebrow. “I thought I was a _depraved_ bastard, not a deprived one. You?”

Dave just shrugged, watching Bruce with eyes alight.

“What you do,” said Bruce, waving his hands to illustrate his point, “is get in a circle. Put a biscuit in the middle.”

“What sort of biscuit?” asked Steve, reluctantly drawn into the conversation.

“Doesn’t matter. But digestives work best. Bigger target area.” Bruce sat back with a grin.

“Target...?” Nicko was fascinated. “What you doin’ with the biscuit then?”

“You all whack off at the same time, see -”

“Whaaaaaaaat? Oh you dirty, dirty bastards. See, all we lower class kids did was wank off in the bogs, all alone like. You lot did it all in front of each other? Cor, bad as the bloody Yanks, that is. What do they call it - a circle jerk, yeah, that’s the puppy. Dirty boy, Bruce.”

Bruce wagged his finger at Nicko. Might as well get as much mileage out of this as possible. “Not just a circle jerk, my rambling old chum. You see, you all aim for the biscuit -”

“That’s -” snapped Harry, lip curled.

“Disgustin’, yeah,” grinned Nicko, “go on, Bruce - this is getting interesting.”

“- and the last one to come...”

“Yeah?”

“Eats the biscuit.”

Bruce settled back in his seat while his friends shouted their revulsion. Harry covered his eyes with a sigh, then turned his back and tried to ignore them all before this conversation got _completely_ out of hand.

“You actually did that? Played the game?” Dave seemed fascinated.

“A time or two, yeah. Not my favourite thing to play but...yeah.”

“I could ask what your favourite was, but after that disgustin’ little revelation I don’t think we will, fuck knows what awful revelations we’d be subjected to. You horrible dirty little posh man, you.”

“Hey, you asked.”

“Demanded,” agreed H, with a tilt of his head toward the drummer.

“Yeah.”

“True. So,” and Nicko slapped his big hands together with a noise like a gunshot, “since we is all bored to bloody tears, who’s up for a game of biscuit, then?”

Steve blinked at him, the ignoring not having lasted beyond the crack of Nicko’s hands making him jump. “You have _got_ to be kidding.”

“Nah. Come on ‘Arry, it’ll be a laugh.”

“No. No, no, no.”

“Awww, g’wan. H and Davey are in, aren’t you boys?”

Adrian shrugged, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he watched the bassist squirm in discomfort. “If they’re in, we’re in, yeah. Why not? Davey?”

“Well...yeah, why not. If they do.”

“You’re in aintcha, Bruce? Gotta show us how it’s done, right?”

Bruce shrugged, watching a slow blush beginning to burn in Steve’s cheeks. _Not really into public displays are you, Harry? Oh dear oh dear. Tough luck, mate._

“I’m in if he’s in.” _No fucking chance, there is no way on this earth even Nicko will get Harry to wank off in front of us all, openly, in daylight. No._

“Come onnnnnn, Harry. Say yes, you know you want to.”

“No!”

Nicko shrugged and turned away with a huge sigh. An idea then appeared to occur to him; he smiled craftily and rubbed his hands together in the best theatrical manner. “You’re a jaffa,” he said with a note of delight creeping into his booming voice.

Steve’s head snapped round and the blush worked its way a little higher. “I’m not. You’re full of shit, Nicko.”

“Yeah, you are. You’re a jaffa boy.”

“I. Am. Not.”

“Jaffa!”

“Shut up Nicko.”

“Jaffa. Jaff-jaff-jaff. Jaffffffffaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Jaffa!”

“Nicko.”

“Small ones are more juicy and the ol’ Harry-bossman, he’s a big ol’ jaffa. Dry as a fuckin’ ol’ bone. Jaffa!”

“Nicko...”

Steve’s voice was becoming a little plaintive, making the others grin like dogs on a hot day. The argument was lost; just a matter of time now before Nicko got his way.

“That’s why Ross left ‘im alone in the showers.”

“Shut up.”

“Jaffa!”

“No.”

“Jaffaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Jaffa-jaffa-jaffa! Harry’s a jaffa. We ought to put that in the tourbook - Harry’s a fuckin’ jaffa, whoever woulda thunk it?”

“I’ll get the biscuits,” said Dave, making his way to the front of the bus where the little box of supplies lived.

“No, Nicko. Now _please_ shut the fuck up.”

“Big fuckin’ banner. ‘Iron Maiden, featuring that all time famous jaffa on bass, ‘Arry ‘Arris’!”

Steve cursed under his breath then flung his hands in the air, cheeks flaming as he gave in. “Alright! Alright! I’ll do it. I’ll _do_ it, just shut up willya?”

Nicko rubbed his hands together and laughed evilly. “Good boy ‘Arry, very good boy. Now we put the biscuit on the floor -”

“I am not,” growled Steve, “eating _anything_ that has been on the floor of this tourbus.”

“You ate that girl out last week, and she’d not only been on the floor but she’d been on the floor _with Nicko._ ”

“Fuck off, Bruce.”

“I made her wash first.”

“You’ll only have to eat it if you’re a jaffa and can’t get it up, mate. Big strong boy like you? No chance, surely?”

Dave was going pink trying to keep the giggles from spilling over even while H was unbuckling his belt, expression remaining cool and unworried despite what they were about to do. Bruce chuckled in spite of his irritation - he’d been so damn sure that Harry wouldn’t play - grabbed the forgotten magazine and threw it to the floor. Snatching the biscuits from Dave, now spluttering with hysteria, and carefully positioning the first unbroken digestive he came to square in the middle of the cover girl’s glossy face, he set the scene for the reluctant bassist.

“Happy?”

Steve scowled, and began to undo his jeans.

“Bastard,” he muttered under his breath.

Bruce shuffled over so that he was next to Steve, undoing his own jeans. “Should be fun, eh?” he murmured, right into Harry’s pink ear.

The bassist flinched, shooting Bruce a dirty look over his shoulder while pulling his soft cock from its hiding place and stroking it to a reluctant half mast; to Bruce’s surprise he had no trouble with his own. Must be something about the company, perhaps? Certainly seeing Harry flinch had sent a spike of red heat direct to his groin; the control freak out of control, maybe - Bruce holding the reins for a change. Whatever the case, he and H were well in front - so to speak - with Nicko screwing his eyes shut and mouthing girl’s names silently. Dave’s breaths were coming heavier by the moment as he watched H intently through half closed eyes, catching up with every twitch of the other guitarist’s shoulders.

Oh yes? Interesting...

“Anyone close?” wheezed Nicko between rapid breaths, cracking one eye open. Bruce struggled not to laugh; Steve appeared to be having a hopelessly hard - soft? - time of it.

“Distracting people--” Bruce gasped, trying hard to concentrate past the sensations of his own hand rough on his shaft, the pulse and heat of his cock straining for more friction, tighter, faster, harder, “--is cheating, Nick.”

“Ah,” the other grunted in reply, then twisted his mouth into an unashamedly naughty smile. “Alright, ‘Arry?”

Steve screwed his eyes shut and growled, dropping his head so that his face was hidden behind his hair, concentrating intently on beating some sort of a response out of his half hearted erection. The others were well away, and for a few minutes the only sounds audible over the ever-present grumble of the bus were the slap of fists on flesh and the increasingly rapid breathing of five men concentrating their minds on one thing. Heavy breathing racked up to panting, and soon short gasps as of approaching orgasm jerked across the intervening airspace. Moment of truth for someone, clearly.

Dave yelped, drawing the sound out to a long, bone deep groan as he squeezed and yanked, directing the shockingly sudden stream of come in the approximate direction of the biscuit on the magazine. He tipped his head back and finished on a gasp, giving his cock two last sharp jerks then leaning on H with a dreamy smile, squeezing the last few drops to fall on the dusty floor between his boots. The warmth of the contact must have done something for Adrian, too; he followed suit with a sudden hiss of exhaled air, directing the stream to splash right on target.

“Fuck,” he grumbled quietly, leaning on Dave and stroking himself as he panted, the final run of spasms producing a shiver across the slender shoulders and a catlike stretch-and-twist of the long back.

“Hmmm,” agreed Dave, shaking and stowing as though this public display were an everyday event. H continued to caress himself as he watched Bruce and Steve closely, rolling his foreskin back into place with the ball of his thumb and twitching the edge of a smile as he caught the vocalist staring at the small action. Bruce slowed his fist, deliberately; he was going to wait for Nicko - if it fucking killed him - then when Harry thought he might be in with a chance, away he’d go. He was close now, could feel the tightness in his balls, the ache deep inside that would turn to blazing heat with just _a little more_ ; he wasn’t the only one.

With a howling cry of: “Keriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiist all _fucking_ mighty!” Nicko splashed copiously across the magazine, catching the edge of Bruce’s seat and generally making an awful mess. Most of the white, viscous ropes, however, were right on target; the biscuit was getting well drenched in the spendings of the three men. Three down -

“Just you and me now,” muttered Bruce in Steve’s ear. Expecting to see the other man’s cock wilt at the words, he had a moment’s start when he saw the organ jump to hard, straining life under the ministrations of those long, calloused fingers. Jesus!

Steve’s back straightened with a suddenness that should have been accompanied by a bang; he flung his head back with a swirl of long dark curls and swore at the top of his voice, somehow remembering to point the end of his cock in the right direction as he shot his load. H still had to jump back, chuckling, in order to avoid being splashed; and Harry just came...and came...and came...

_Fuck. Fuck! Damn. Damn hell and bloody fucking bollocks!_

Bruce jerked himself to shuddering completion, a curiously joyless experience now that he knew he’d lost. 

Steve was leaning against the back of the seat, still shaking and panting; when Bruce turned to glare at him he turned away, blushing again. Bastard!

Balls aching, he turned to stare at Nicko, daring him to state the obvious.

“You lose, Bruce,” crooned the big man, and from the grins of his companions Bruce knew that there was going to be no getting away from the consequences. Not this time.

~*~

Rod yawned, scratched himself and rolled out of his bunk, ignoring the sounds of loud protestation coming from toward the front of the bus. Bruce bitching about something again, no doubt. He hunted around for a moment, checking all the usual out of the way places before setting about pouring coffee from the thermos tucked away - some might almost say hidden - under the tangled blankets of Dave’s bunk. One for all, and all that - 

Ah. No wonder the little bugger had hidden it. Drop of the hard stuff to spice it up a little, eh? Dave’s special blend to shift the hangover.

Tough shit. Finders keepers.

Rod emptied the flask into his mug and tossed it back behind the curtain. He’d explain later. In the meantime, what he could do with was a biscuit -

He emerged into the seated area of the bus in time to see Bruce apparently swallowing something to the great and indecent mirth of Dave, H and Nicko. Steve, strangely, had tucked himself into a corner and appeared to be ignoring the lot of them, although even he seemed to be sniggering quietly to himself.

“You sick bastard, Dickinson,” grinned Adrian, almost in tears he was laughing so damn hard.

Bruce gagged a couple of times, made a growling noise and turned to see Rod, standing there dressed in his boxers and his socks looking a little more bemused than usual. Without so much as a good morning he swiped the mug from Rod’s hands, slugged the contents down in one great draught and shoved the mug back from whence it had come. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and, over the top of Rod’s complaint, shot an accusing finger out at their drummer and said:

“Bollocks, mate. Best of three?”


End file.
